


Golden Seas

by fillamena



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: I did Research for This, M/M, Pirate!AU, crowley and anathema are buddies, early 1800s, human!AU, ineffable pirates, the angels are pirates!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-21
Updated: 2019-07-21
Packaged: 2020-07-09 18:24:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19892308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fillamena/pseuds/fillamena
Summary: On board a research and trading expedition, the crew of the Hell Raiser encounters the infamous Queen’s Angels, a pirate crew known across the seven seas.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I’m super excited to be writing this story, as I’m kind of a nerd for all things pirates and nautical. I’ll be doing my research, but if I miss anything feel free to call it out! This work will update slower than my last one, due to the actual things I’ll be looking up and fact-checking. I’ll write my historical discrepancies and general findings in the notes at the end of the chapter, so enjoy!

His ear itched. His eyes watered. His hair was plastered to his head with sweat. His back ached, his knees were deadlocked, and his fingers were cramping. 

For the past two hours, Crowley had been squatting in the middle of the jungle, staring intently at a beautiful flower unlike the ones he’d seen in England or any current nature catalogue. 

His colored oil pastels stained his fingers and littered the ground around him. He had just a few more moments until he knew it was perfect. He had already recorded the size of the flower, the seed type, and how and where it grew, but the picture, in his opinion, was the most important part. 

Finally, he tossed down the last yellow pastel and sagged against the ground, resting his head gently on the roots of a large tree. His notebook lay open on his lap as he shut his eyes. The warm wind was rustling through the trees. The sun was streaming down through the cover of leaves high above, dancing patterns across the ground around him. Crowley felt his eyes grow heavy and started to fall into a comfortable sleep. 

“Anthony! Where are you?”

He bolted upright, throwing his pastels into their case. “I’m over here!” 

A woman with long black hair stepped out of the bushes holding two cloth bags. She walked over to Crowley and sat down next to him, leaning back against the tree behind them. 

She picked up his notebook and began to examine his latest entry. “Hibiscus? I didn’t know this grew here, I thought it was only native to Asia.”

“Apparently it grows perfectly in the Caribbean climate, so there’s a whole bunch of new species all throughout the coast. My eyes hurt from staring at it for so long.” Crowley groaned, rubbing his still-watering eyes. 

The young woman smiled and held out one of the bags she had. “I figured I’d shop around town for a while, so I picked these up from a trading ship out of South Africa. Apparently they’re a Chinese invention? They help with the headaches you get from sun glare.”

Crowley got up onto his elbows and reached into the bag, extracting a strange device - all firm wiring with two discs of dark quartz fixed in the center. He carefully hooked the two extremeties of the wire behind his ears and rested the discs in front of his eyes, and the world around him became a lot dimmer, yet he could still see. 

“Anathema! These are incredible!” He exclaimed, reaching over and patting her arm. 

She smiled warmly. “They’re called sunglasses, apparently, and they weren’t cheap so don’t go breaking them. I also picked out a pair for myself,” here she reached into a small purse slung around her shoulder and pulled out a similar, yet smaller pair to Crowley’s, “But mine are pink.”

She pulled hers on and they looked at each other and laughed.

“Come on,” she said, standing up. “We’ve gotta go or we’ll get lost in the jungle.”

Anathema extended a hand to Crowley and he took it after he carefully placed thin wax paper between the pages of his notebook to preserve his drawing. He threw the notebook and his pastels into a bag and hooked his arm in Anathema’s, and both set off down the vague forest path towards town. 

As they came down from the small mountain and more into the coastal area, the air became less hot and muggy and was instead filled with a cool ocean breeze. The small shacks around the path grew into proper houses, and the houses into a town, and the town into a bustling port. The pair weaved through markets and vendors, eventually spilling out onto a main street down by the entrance to the docks. 

“Are you hungry?” Asked Anathema as the two sat down on a shipping crate near the start of the docks, watching the sun start to dip in the sky. 

Crowley shrugged. “Not really, I had some food some woman in the village gave me when I asked for directions this morning.”

“You haven’t eaten since this morning?” Anathema chided, “Why didn’t you say anything! Here,” she pulled the second cloth bag from earlier out of her purse, “Eat these.”

Crowley looked into the bag and saw small pieces of white, all different sizes. “What is it?”

“Dried coconut, I bought it earlier. It’s pretty good, I had some while trying to find you.”

He took a piece from the bag and popped it in his mouth to find he enjoyed the flavor. It was certainly better than any strange white food-resembling thing he’d pull out of a bag in England. 

The expedition the two were on was part of a larger research and trade venture dedicated to following closely in the footsteps of Captain James Cook some 50 years earlier, to catalogue how the places he had visited changed over time. The ship had stopped briefly in St. John, but they had been informed they were soon en route southwards to Rio de Janeiro in Brazil.

Anathema, lead researcher, had pulled Crowley from an artist’s workshop in South London to accompany her as an assistant. She swore up and down she couldn’t get the colors right like he could, and pulled every excuse in the book to get him on board with the crew. Luckily, Captain Anna Beelzebub had accepted Anathema’s pleas to get him on board, and the two had spent the majority of their time together. 

Crowley had made other friends on the ship, of course, including a few deckhands and the ship’s wily boatswain, Sergeant Shadwell. But after a long day, he enjoyed kicking his legs up in Anathema’s small study and just being in the presence of someone who appreciated alcohol as something other than trying to get as much down their throats as possible before they passed out. He also respected Anathema immensely, and had fought for her honor when one of the crew members would get a little too deep in the cups and start saying uncouth things about her femininity. 

The crew suspected something was going on between them, but both Crowley and Anathema knew that was impossible. After all, when Anathema came calling to his workshop in London, she had found him in a rather... compromising position with one of the male art models. He trusted her to take that particular secret of his with her to her grave. 

They sat for a while, munching on coconut bits, until two men approached heading for the docks. One was a tall and lanky blond, with a small frog sitting in the pocket of his shirt. The other was shorter, with dark skin and violently yellow eyes. They were Lieutenant Hastur and his assistant, Ligur. 

“Oi, where have you two been? We’re leaving as soon as Captain has all the new stuff on board,” Hastur said. 

“We’ve been just sitting here, watching the docks. Coconut?” Crowley offered the bag to him. 

Hastur shrugged and took a few, handing some to Ligur, who leaned in. 

“Rumor has it Captain wants to be out at sea by nightfall. Something about Angel ships moving in.”

Anathema’s eyebrows raised. “Really? The Queen’s Angels? All the way out here?”

Ligur nodded. “Quartermaster Dagon told us herself, so it’d be best to board now and escape the possible wrath of being late. Can I have more of that?”

Crowley handed him the bag of coconut and helped Anathema down from the crate she sat on. The four then walked down the dock and onto the boat. 

The ship was a massive thing, all beautiful polished wood, with a figurehead of a screaming woman at the front. The sails rose high into the air, making it one of the most prominent vessels in the harbor. It was called the Hell Raiser, which was very amusing to the crew. Slightly blasphemous, but the entirety of the ship’s inhabitants had abandoned God or been abandoned by God at one point or another.

Crowley and Anathema parted ways with Hastur and Ligur and set down to the study. There, Crowley secured his notebook and pastels in his bag and sank into one of the chairs around the small desk in the room. Anathema handed him a glass of wine and sat down across from him, shoving her various catalogues and notebooks aside. 

“The Queen’s Angels...” she began, swirling her own glass and watching the wine vortex, “Why would Captain Beelzebub be wary of them?”

Crowley sighed. “No clue. They’re a wily one, I’ll tell ya that. But maybe they’re right to be wary. The Angels have been stopping ships everywhere recently, I heard about it this morning in the market.”

“From the same woman who gave you breakfast?” Anathema smirked. 

Crowley placed a hand over his heart in a feigned hurt. “What, I can’t catch up on my drama from the local wives? Not my fault I’m irresistible.” He looked over the rims of the glasses she bought him and winked. 

Anathema laughed and leaned back in her chair. “I’m so glad you agreed to come with me. I’d be so bored here without at least one other mostly-sane individual on board.”

They laughed and there was a knock on the door of the cabin. Without waiting for a reply, Captain Beelzebub stepped in and strode into the room, sitting down at one of the other chairs around the desk. 

“How may we help you, Captain?” Anathema asked. 

“Just making sure you two were here,” they said nonchalantly. “We’re about to sail. Did you find anything today?”

Crowley nodded and got his notebook. “Yeah, a new species of Hibiscus. Seems like Asia isn’t the only place to get these things.”

He handed over the notebook and they carefully pages through, stopping at his drawings and examining them. “Adequate. Good work, I guess. Will you two be joining us for dinner?”

The pair shook their heads. “We had dinner at the harbor, but thank you,” Anathema smiled. 

“Alright.” Without another word, they got up and left the room, leaving Crowley and Anathema staring at each other. 

“They’re so strange,” Crowley muttered, picking up his notebook gently and placing it back in his bag. 

“Tell me about it. Yesterday they came down and asked me if we’ve catalogued any new bugs recently. Then they had me show them every single insect I’ve recorded since we got here.”

Crowley laughed. “Bugs. Beelzebub loves bugs, but Dagon is sure lord of the flies, eh? I saw one crawl into her hair the other day.”

“Ew! I don’t know how she gets away with those dresses she wears,” Anathema giggles, “It’s like she took every design for this year and took scissors to it.”

“Oh and you’re very up to date on the fashions of 1821, eh?” Crowley laughed again, sipping some wine.

“Better than her!” 

The pair settled into a comfortable silence before going back and reporting their research to one another, passing away the hours by discussing bugs and plants and Crowley’s immaculate drawings. The sun sank in the sky, leaving great trails of golden sunlight streaming into the cabin. They were just about to retire to their respective bunks when Hastur burst in. 

“You two. Above deck, quickly. Something’s following us. A ship, maybe. Come on.”

They looked at each other and ran out the room, nearly running up to the deck and crowding by the rail. In the vague distance in the shadow of the setting sun, with the sky lit a hazy red, they could see a golden ship pursuing them from the North. 

“It’s them,” Anathema muttered. “It’s the Queen’s Angels.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In all honesty the reason I wrote this fic was because I was lamenting over the fact we were robbed of a high seas pirate adventure in the beginning of episode 3, so this entire work is just the product of my overactive imagination.

Crowley and Anathema flew back down the stairs, piling all their research and notebooks into a large leather bag, close to panicking but not quite there yet. 

Crowley threw back the rest of the wine in his previously forgotten glass, but Anathema just grabbed the whole bottle and took a long sip. 

"This is it, huh? This is how I go out? All my work, for nothing? For nothing!?" She paced around the room.

Crowley reached out and grabbed her shoulder lightly, but she threw him off. "I'm gonna die on this stupid ship, 3,000 miles from home, I should have listened to my mother and become a librarian, or a seamstress, or something that wouldn't result in me being killed by pirates!" 

Bootsteps stormed back and forth along the deck overhead, leaving a dull thudding noise echoing around the cabin as Anathema lamented her life's choices and Crowley sipped his wine. 

"We won't be killed, you know," he reasoned in a low voice. 

She whirled around and stuck a finger in his face. "How on Earth would you ever know that?"

"Well, just think about it. We're researchers. We have important scientific knowledge, and, since they're sanctioned by the Queen, the Angels are supposed to be bringing her resources. At worst, we get thrown in their hold and we don't come out until we're safely back in England. At best, we sit at their table and eat their food and talk about flowers and bugs like our lives depend on it."

Anathema stopped pacing and considered for a second, taking another long drag of wine. "But you've heard the stories, Anthony! The Queen's Angels don't care who's who! With our luck, we'll be put to work on the ship for the rest of our lives!"

"Yeah, that may be a possibility..." Crowley trailed off, sinking into his chair to watch the last of the sun drift below the horizon out the window. He took his glasses off and polished them with the edge of his shirt, and put them back on. It was comforting, the darkness they provided. 

More stomping came from overhead, accompanied by loud shouts and orders being yelled across deck. The crew was working overtime trying to fasten down everything the Angels could even think about taking as their own. 

Ordered by the Queen, the Angels were originally supposed to be a fleet of ships to maintain order in the seven seas, however a streak of corrupt captains left them disillusioned. The Angels now wreaked havoc everywhere they went, using their 'special orders from the Queen' to pillage and ransack innocent ships. They also colonized 'savage' areas, ruining traditional native ways to make room for more English religious values. To make matters worse, specific Angel ships had a tendency for bloodshed, whether it be an uncooperative captain or if they were just feeling it that day. Unwittingly, the dear old Queen had created her own fleet of pirates.

Crowley heard footsteps running down the hallway and Hastur burst into the room, panting and sweating slightly. In the dim light of the cabin with no extra sun from outside, his blond hair hung limp and gave off an eerie green color. 

"Hastur! Take a seat, won't you? You look horrible! Anathema and I are deciding if we're going to be killed or not when the Angels catch up to us."

Hastur took the bottle of wine from Anathema and poured a glass before returning it and sinking down into the chair next to Crowley. He drained the glass in three large gulps and sighed. "In all honesty, odds are very good we'll all be killed. Dagon just told me that Shadwell up on the deck confirmed the ship to be the deadliest of the Angels. The Golden Wing, they call it. She's the fastest ship out there to date, and the poor old Hell Raiser can't outrun her for much longer."

Anathema would not stop pacing, and it was starting to give Crowley a headache. "Great! We're going to be killed by religious freaks on a boat specifically designed to be blasphemous!"

"What's up with her?" Asked Hastur. 

Crowley shook his head. "Just ignore it, she'll be fine once she gets it all out."

Hastur shrugged and wiped a hand across his face. "Well, I'd suggest you two come up on deck so we don't have to go through the whole "dead body in the boat" thing later. It was a spectacular sunset, but now it's just lighting the Golden Wing up in red. I'll see you later."

Hastur gently set his glass down and walked out of the room. A moment later, he returned. 

"Oh, right. Beelzebub told me to tell you to keep that bag of research stuff on you. She said it might come in handy for something? Not sure. Just don't lose it."

And with that, he was gone. Crowley grumbled and picked up the bag, cradling it in his arms. The past 3 months of his life were in that bag, everything he and Anathema had worked on.

"Come on," He said gently, pulling Anathema with him, "Let's go watch the water."

They made their way up to the deck and stood along the railing, looking out over the water. The sun had set, but the sky remained a deep red, turning into purple over their heads. In the distance, Crowley could barely make out the silhouette of a ship. The color of the sky and the reflection of the sea made it look like the ship was burning, with its sails nothing more than wild flames. 

Anathema sighed and put her head in her hands. "I just wish there was something we could do."

"Aye, but there is, lassie," Sergeant Shadwell's thick accent pierced their moping. "I have treats for the both of you."

"Treats?" Crowley's eyebrows raised. 

"Aye, for fighting off those stinkin' pirates. And any witches, if the situation arise." 

Crowley and Anathema shared a sideways glance before they watched Shadwell reach into his bag. 

"For the lady, a silver dagger that can be discreetly hidden in the folds of a dress or the like." 

He extended the dagger out to Anathema, who held it carefully. It was beautifully reflective, with a leather handle and a small bead of glass set into the pommel. She tossed it back and forth between her hands, and nodded with a smile. 

"Thank you."

Shadwell grunted and reached back into the bag, this time pulling out a flintlock pistol that had seen better days. Its silver was slightly tarnished, and it's redwood handle had small scratches. Crowley raised his eyebrows and lifted his glasses off, resting them on top of his head. When he looked closer, he could see vines and leaves etched into the metal.

"That pistol has been in my family for years and years. Never been a pistol person myself, always preferred the traditional bell, book, and candle. You always wear those tight trousers so I thought it would be a good fit for you, hiding it behind your jacket and such."

At the recommendation, Crowley pushed back his long black coat and hung the gun at his hip, where he (begrudgingly) admitted it fit perfectly. 

"Now no need for you two to thank me, just do yer parts to stop the witches and I'll be a happy man."

They smiled and graciously accepted their gifts and watched him walk away. Anathema held her new dagger up to the dim light of the lamps on deck and shined it this way and that, admiring how it caught what little light there was. Crowley, on the other hand, wrote off his pistol as 'worthless old junk' and decided to just use it as a fashion accessory for the time being. 

“Nothing like a nice present to cheer up the ends of our worlds, hmm?” Anathema smiled. 

“Yeah, you’ve got a point there. Only a few hours left I’m guessing. D’you wanna go get drunk?”

Anathema looked out at the water, out at the looming ship in the distance, and shrugged. “Why not, it’s not like we have any better things to do.”

“Fantastic! There’s a case of rum in the below decks. Go to your bunk, fill this bag-“ he handed over the leather bag with their research in it “- with as much clean underwear as you can fit. And meet me in the study in, I don’t know, ten minutes?”

Ten minutes later, Anathema and Crowley were each popping open a bottle of rum each, and taking that wonderful first swig. 

Anathema had taken care to pack chemises for herself and threw common decency out the window to pack whatever of Crowley’s she could find. Crowley had grabbed about five bottles of rum from the ship’s storage and booked it before anyone saw him. Four people did see him, but had the manners to pretend like they didn’t. 

In an hour, two bottles were gone. In two, there was only one bottle left. Crowley and Anathema danced around the cabin, singing the “we’re going to die” song over and over again. In a bold move, Crowley tossed the last bottle of rum into their research-and-underwear bag and shut it tight. 

Hastur appeared in the doorway after their 50th rendition of the song, a grim look on his face. “They’re here.”

Crowley and Anathema stumbled up the steps, Crowley towing the bag behind them. They both giggled and wobbled across the deck to the railing, where they sat down with many other giggling crew members. They were pleased to see they weren’t the only ones who had the idea of drinking away their last hours. 

“I-I wonder where the sshhip isss,” Crowley slurred, drawing out his ‘s’ sounds. 

“Y-you sound like a sneak! Snake!” Anathema giggled. “You’re right! Where’s the ship?”

As if on cue, a massive figurehead appeared around the bow of the ship, sneaking out of the dark like a shadow. Painted in gold, the figurehead appeared to be two angels, wrestling? Crowley cocked his head. They were definitely not wrestling. He drunkenly smirked, not believing something so sinful could be the focal point of such a prominent ship.

They heard shouts and jeers from the other boat, but they were soon silenced. Crowley watched as Captain Beelzebub strode out on deck, her hat squarely on her head. She had fixed a small black pin to her hat, he thought it might have been a fly but he couldn’t be sure due to the darkness of the deck. Her heels made a soft ‘clack’ as she stood dead center of the deck, waiting for the onslaught as the golden boat pulled up alongside the Hell Raiser. 

From out of the darkness, a large figure swung on a rope and landed inches from Beelzebub, towering over her. 

His shoes were perfectly polished, his pants pressed, his jacket immaculate, and his hat magnificent, with a beautiful white feather sticking up from the brim. His face was clean shaven, and he had the most startling purple eyes. He looked down at Beelzebub and fixed her with an extremely fake looking smile that didn’t reach his eyes. 

“My name is Captain Gabriel, captain of the Golden Wing, third ship of the Queen’s Angels. Your ship is hereby ours to command. Are there any questions? No? Great! We’ll be seizing all your crew and supplies, effective immediately.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes I'm aware England had a King in 1821 (King George IV) but shhh let's just pretend that there was a Queen because 'Queen's Angels' sounds way cooler.  
> Flintlock mechanisms have been around since the 1600s, but were widely used in the late 1700s and early 1800s. It was the most common weapon of European and American armies from 1660 to 1840 due to their reliability and effectiveness.   
> With my loose grip on 1800s fashion I looked it up and women in the early 19th century wore chemises, a long flowing nightgown under their dresses. No actual panties or anything to be seen (or not-seen). Men, of course, wore regular underwear (though much uglier than modern day ones).


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y’all i’m still workin thru this and wowza i love me some pirates ok enjoy!!
> 
> also don’t b afraid to leave comments because wow this fic is draining to write

Crowley had decided he was not having fun. He hadn’t expected it to be fun at all, but it was really not going good. 

After Gabriel and Beelzebub’s brief standoff, the taller captain had smacked Beelzebub aside powerfully enough to knock her out and had commanded his angels to tie the crew of the Hell Raiser up and load them onto his own ship. Which, of course, meant Crowley and Anathema were (none too gently) grabbed, bound, and hauled onto the Golden Wing. Their books were seized and taken downstairs, with some muttering about who exactly they were going to. 

Crowley was not having fun as he watched from the deck of the angel ship as the angels shelled the Hell Raiser over and over again with cannon fire, as well as just throw lit pieces of wood doused in oil that seemed to burn bright white. That combined with the stock of oil and gunpowder that had been poured on the deck lit the Hell Raiser aflame. Crowley’s face burned at the close proximity of the blaze. He watched as the Golden Wing sailed away from his temporary home, and watched as she sunk into the ocean. 

Crowley was most certainly not having fun when he and Anathema were dragged into the bowels of the golden ship by two burly people dressed in white and discarded none too gently in what seemed to be the captain’s office, on two hard backed wooden chairs set in front of a large oak desk. 

The room was neat, almost too neat to belong to a murderous pirate captain, but it did have some concerning knick knacks and paraphernalia. Along the walls were swords encrusted with rubies and diamonds that glittered in the low light of the cabin. There were a couple of tastefully placed skulls, not all human, on various pedestals around the room. In a glass display box on the desk, on a velvet cushion, sat a single white feather. It was creepy. Crowley could do spooky, but just not creepy. 

The door slammed open. Crowley and Anathema jumped, and Captain Gabriel strolled around them to sit at his desk. He was dressed in clean beige pants, a white button down shirt with purple trim, and a white captain’s jacket with gold buttons. He took off his immaculate hat and rested it on the desk, lightly toying with the large feather that rose from the brim. 

Crowley and Anathema exchanged a glance. 

“Ah yes! The two ‘researchers’ on your expedition!” Gabriel’s voice boomed in the small cabin, filling the space. He smiled at them, but it didn’t quite meet his eyes. “Quite suspicious that for a reasearch expedition, only two of you are truly qualified as anyone in a scientific field. Or, at least one of you is. I’m not so sure about you.”

At that he turned his eerily purple eyes on Crowley, who smirked. “I’m an artist, trained in realistic versions suitable for cataloguing specimen-“

Gabriel cut him off with a wave. “You see, I don’t actually care who you are. Either of you, for that matter. Your ‘captain’-“ he said the word like it didn’t taste good in his mouth “- is Anna Beelzebub, famous smuggler. Something tells me you two were just a ruse! Imagine that!”

Crowley’s mouth went dry. He knew there were items in the crates below deck of the Hell Raiser that he wasn’t supposed to ask questions about, but smuggling? Beelzebub seemed competent enough, but if what Gabriel was saying was true, they were good as dead. His crew had killed for less. 

“Anyways, you are now prisoners of this ship, et cetera, et cetera. I must say, however, these notes truly are fantastic.”

He held up Crowley’s notebook, and flipped through a few pages. Crowley tried to snatch it away, but became painfully aware of the bonds at his wrists and feet.

“That’s mine!” He hissed. 

Gabriel laughed, but a second later his face went deadpan. “I don’t care! And besides, these don’t seem very scientific... unless they’re about the male body?”

The angel captain leafed through the last few pages of the notebook and held a couple up. Crowley’s face burned. They were of men, engaged in... sinful activities. He had forgotten about them, as his notebook was from the artist’s workshop where Anathema had found him. 

“I won’t touch your stupid scientific notes or whatever, but I might hold on to a few of these ones you call art, maybe give them to some of my crew for... safekeeping.” Gabriel’s eyes traveled to Anathema and narrowed slightly. “You, dear girl, are another problem entirely. Too smart for your own good. Can’t just throw you off the ship, that’s a waste of talent. Can’t give you a real job, you don’t seem all that strong. That’s fine, you can assist the Madame. She’s the one who, well, entertains the crew that can’t be sated by simple drawings.”

Crowley’s mouth went dry. A low growl rose in the back of his throat but Anathema sent him a warning look. He could see wheels turning behind her eyes, already scheming. 

“Where do I go, then?” Crowley spat. 

Gabriel laughed. “To the hold, of course! You can rot for the rest of our journey, I have no use for any worthless artist living in sin.”

He snapped, and suddenly two angels stood behind both of them. Crowley was lifted out of his seat by a broad shouldered, dark skinned angel with gold flecks running under their eyes. He kicked and resisted, but the angel was just too strong. He and Anathema were dragged into the hallway and separated, and he watched as Anathema struggled against the wiry angel who was holding her, but to no avail. 

Crowley was dragged for what felt like forever, getting jeered at and winked at suggestively by the pirates watching his decent into the hold. He became very aware of just how much his tight trousers showed.

Finally he was taken into the belly of the ship and thrown into a dark cage, with a single porthole above where he could reach. The angel spat on him, locked the door, and walked back down the long hallway. Crowley yelled insults, but realized they were no use. 

He slumped against the wall, feeling every bit as tired as he deserved, but there was something digging into his back. He shifted uncomfortably, trying to figure out what was, when it hit him. In the confusion, the pirates had forgotten to disarm him. His coat had perfectly concealed the pistol Shadwell had given him, so perfectly that he hadn’t had it confiscated. Sending a quick thank you to the crazy artillery sergeant, he looked around for something to cut his binds.

He found the something in a broken bottle of rum. Quickly and carefully, he took up a shard of glass and cut the ropes at his hands and feet, only receiving a small nick on his hand. Not bad, for being captured by murderous angel pirates. 

He rose and scanned the dim room, trying to see a set of keys. With a start he realized his glasses from Anathema were still on, lending to the darkness of the room. He took them off and gently placed them in his jacket pocket, scanning the room once more. He smiled as he glimpsed bright silver keys gleaming on a hook a few feet away. 

Pushing against the cage door, he pressed his whole body against the thin bars and reached outwards. one of the bars creaked, and he drew back and banged it a few times with his fist. The weak bar fell. He caught it swiftly and reached out with it, out through the narrow opening, until he hooked the keys around the long pole. Crowley unlocked the cage and brushed himself off in the hallway. He was surprised it had been that easy, but that just meant worse things were to come. 

He drew the pistol from its holster behind his jacket and slowly made his way down the hallway, listening for any creaks or groans from the pirates. He made it to the end of the narrow hall, where a door was left open. A soft light emanated from inside, and he slowly rounded the corner of the door. No one was within, so he popped through the doorway.

Examining the room, he appeared to be in a sort of library in the ship. Books were stacked haphazardly in every surface, and the back wall was completely covered in bookshelves. With a sigh of relief, he realized his leather bag was tucked against the far wall, seemingly untouched aside from Gabriel’s confiscation of his notebook. He re-holstered his pistol and slithered further into the room, checking out the large table at the center. 

On the table was a map. It was worn and yellowed, obviously old. It seemed to be leading to a place, but Crowley couldn’t figure out exactly where. Suddenly, his veins filled with ice as he heard someone clear their throat. 

Looking up, his golden eyes locked with bright blue ones. Crowley’s heart momentarily stopped working as he took in the sight. 

In front of him was an angel, a real one it seemed. The man had curly blond hair, and was dressed like an aristocrat. His clothes were shabby, but clean, and in his hand he shakily held a worn-looking pistol. He had it aimed at Crowley, but seemed unsure as if he knew how to fire it.

“S-stop where you are, foul friend.” His voice was like wind on a warm day, even with the light stutter. 

Crowley backed away from the table, raising his hands defensively.

The angel stepped into the cabin and closed the door behind him. The lock slid into place with a quiet click. His pistol hand still shook slightly, and his face seemed much too soft to actually shoot Crowley. At least, that’s what he was betting on. The angel looked like he ate well, and lived a good life. Why was he on a vessel of the Queen’s Angels? He didn’t seem to have a pirate bone in him. At least, maybe not in the metaphorical sense. Or figurative sense. Whatever, Crowley was getting too caught up in how the angel actually looked. 

“W-who are you? And why are you here? What do you want?”

“I’m just lost, is all. I saw the only light in the hallway, and followed it. Who are you?”

The angel shook his head. “I asked first.”

Crowley sighed. “Before we get into questioning, there’s a bottle of rum in the leather bag over against that wall. I suggest you retrieve it, or we’ll be in for a long night.”

The angel, with the pistol still aimed shakily at Crowley, crossed the room and reached into the bag, retrieving the bottle. 

“I really do not want to shoot you, my dear boy, so how about we just drink?” The angel asked. 

Crowley shrugged. “Fine by me, I don’t really care for being shot. And you don’t seem to belong on a pirate ship, might I add.”

The angel sighed and placed his pistol on the table. He sat down heavily and poured two large glasses of rum from cups he seemed to have materialized out of nowhere. He slid one of the glasses to Crowley and took a sip. 

“My name is Aziraphale. And I’m a prisoner, just like you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So turns out the Molotov cocktail was invented in the late ‘30s, which means I can’t have my proper chaotic arson angel pirates. It’s fine, I’m fine, don’t text.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your kind comments! This story is gonna be way longer than I anticipated, as i’m still figuring out the remainder of the plot. C’est la vie. Hope y’all enjoy this chapter!

~Two Years Ago~

Aziraphale stood with his back to the wall as the new shipment came in. The Queen’s Angels had apparently stopped a Spanish trade ship and had seized a large crate of old manuscripts and ancient texts. Being a more senior member of the Queen’s Royal Library, he was immediately put in charge of the evaluation and translation of the old tomes. 

The crew that brought the crates in were not as gentle as he would have liked, but the hard look in their eyes and the gleaming pistols at their sides caused him to refrain from asking them to be more careful. 

Finally, when the men were done, he was able to close (and lock) the door of his office to finally crack open the crates. He discarded his jacket on the back of his chair and rolled his sleeves up, prying open the first box. 

Inside, he found several copies of the Bible, all in Spanish, as well as a few old Spanish history texts. Nothing out of the ordinary, as the ship had been stopped coming out of Spain. 

Upon opening the second crate, however, he found a book of myths. Unusual, especially since the copy was written in what seemed to be old English. 

He poked and prodded through the rest of the crates, occasionally finding odd books hidden within, until, at the bottom of the last crate, he found a massive leather-covered tome. Inscribed on the cover in faded gold leaf, the title read ‘The Nice and Accurate Histories, Tales, and Travels of Agnes Nutter, sailor.’

Aziraphale’s interest peaked. He cracked open the tome, careful to not damage the spine, and began to read. It took him two weeks to read the book, cover to cover. 

Agnes had been a researcher, sailing around the world with her crew in the 1500s. She was the first prominent woman captain of a ship from England, and seemingly reported to no one but the Queen. She traveled around the world and back, and recorded all her findings in the book. Aziraphale’s heart soared as he read of encounters with marine life nearly too outlandish to believe. 

When he was finished with the book, he diligently went back and recorded all the others, but Agnes’s book remained in the back of his mind. When his initial job was done, he returned and re-read the entirety of the book.

Upon his second read, however, he noticed a thickness between the back pages of the book that he swore weren’t there before. He quickly closed the book and hid it away in his desk.

Late one night, with his door locked and oil lamp lit, he lay the book open on the mysterious page. With tweezers and a surgeon-like concentration, he pried the two pages apart delicately, being careful to mind the fragility of the salt-crusted paper. 

Between a retelling of her encounter with a Kraken and a vague premonition about things to come, he found a thin piece of paper laying hidden. He extracted the paper and unfolded it, finding a map of a place he wasn’t sure he had seen on any map. 

He flipped the map over, and in neat, careful writing, Agnes had written the following:

“To whom t may conc'rn, most likely a bookkeep'r 'r someone of the s'rt in the Queen’s Royal Library,

Thee has't readeth mine own adventures and mine own travels, and anon thee has't the opp'rtunity to partake in one yourself. 

This is a mapeth to a f'retold Eve’s Treasure, a bounty the likes of which I has't did search f'r mine own entire life. I has't did fail to findeth the island on the mapeth, and t is mine own biggest regreteth. So, lief adventur'r with hair of c'rn silk and eyes of sapphire, carryeth out mine own wisheth and bequest thy state and yourself with riches untold. 

T is hath said yond at the cent'r of the treasure did lie an gem of most wondrous size, hath called the Em'rald Apple. 

T is yours to findeth, and yours high-lone. I give you well, child. 

Agnes Nutter, sailor.”

Aziraphale nearly fell backwards out of his chair. He picked himself back up, shaking slightly. He then ran out of the room, all the way up to the high office of the library. 

~One Week Later~

Aziraphale had on his best clothes, his hair was combed, and his hands shook slightly. 

“Aziraphale? You may enter.”

He stepped into the grand room, and saw the Queen herself sitting behind a large desk. She was elegant and regal in all forms of the words. 

“Y-your majesty, thank you for seeing me.” He bowed deeply, trying to hide his nerves. 

“It’s quite alright, Aziraphale. What is it you wish to tell me?”

“Well, ma’am, in a crate of books delivered to me by your Angels, I discovered a tome written by one Agnes Nutter, sailor.”

The Queen nodded wisely. “I am familiar with her works, she was a dear part of this family many centuries ago.”

“Yes, well, you see, I found a map hidden between the pages of the book, one to a fortune dubbed ‘Eve’s Treasure.’”

“Ah, I have heard of this treasure referenced in many royal tomes. What is your question exactly?”

Aziraphale stepped forward and laid the map in question on her desk. “In the writing on the back, you’ll find a note written by Agnes herself, and, well. I do believe it was written for me.”

There was silence as the Queen read over the letter. She handled it carefully, and took her time to examine the words. 

“You would like to seek out this treasure she speaks of. You, with hair of corn silk and eyes of sapphire.” Her eyes twinkled as she quoted the message. “It was said that Agnes was also a prophet, one in tune with the future. I believe you, Aziraphale. You may go out and seek Eve’s Treasure. You have my blessing.”

~One Year Later~

Aziraphale stood on the deck of his own ship. He was not exactly the captain, per say, but he was the one with any inkling of where they were going. In his hands were a copy of Agnes’s map, as well as a letter from the Queen herself reading that Aziraphale should not be stopped by any ship, Angel or otherwise, for it was a mission led in the Crown’s name. 

Within 2 months, the ship was sailing down the coast of the Americas, rounding the Floridian peninsula, and in another month it was sailing into the heart of the Caribbean, where the map alluded it to be. 

One night, as the sun sank below the horizon, one of the Queen’s Angel ships came into view. At the head of the ship, the figurehead depicted two angels... wrestling? Aziraphale did truly hope they were wrestling. 

A man dressed immaculately boarded the ship, regality coming off of him in waves. He strolled up to the captain, who pointed a shaking finger towards Aziraphale. 

“Aziraphale, I presume?” The man asked after he strode across the ship. “The captain over there tells me you are the man truly in charge of this expedition. My name is Captain Gabriel, I am one of the head captains for the Queen’s Angels.”

Aziraphale smiled politely at the taller man. “Pleased to make your acquaintance. I have a letter from the Queen herself in case this situation happened to arise.”

He handed the letter to Gabriel and there was silence while he read it. When he finished, he fixed Aziraphale with a cold stare. 

“You dare lead an expedition in the name of the Queen, with a forged note such as this?”

Aziraphale blanched. “It is not forged! We are on a mission from the Queen!”

“Disgusting, I should have your entire crew hanged for treason.”

“It is not forged! We are on a legitamate expedition!”

Gabriel whistled loudly and his men came on board. “Bound them up. Take this one onto our own ship, he can lead us to the ‘treasure’ he’s been searching for. He doesn’t need his own crew.”

Aziraphale watched in horror as he was hustled off his ship, and his crew rounded up and slaughtered. The Angels set his ship aflame, and made him watch as it sunk into the depths. It took everything he could to hold back tears and scream at his captors, but he so wished to not die.

He jumped as Gabriel clapped him on the shoulder. “You, my dear Aziraphale, are going to lead us to this ‘Eve’s Treasure’ you so vehemently insist exists. It will provide nice funding for the Queen’s Angels, and will write you off as a traitor to the Crown! It’s a win-win! Or, at least, in my book it is.”

Aziraphale was hauled below deck and thrown into what was obviously their previous navigator’s room. Aziraphale did not want to know what happened to them. 

Finally, the tears that had been threatening to spill spilled. He bawled and sobbed into his arms, curling up against the wall. He cried until he could take no more, and that is when he finally fell asleep. 

For the next few months, Aziraphale’s life was a living hell. The crew taunted and teased him mercilessly, and there was even a period of time when they stopped feeding him to see if he lost some of his roundness. Men constantly banged and scratched at his door, whispering cruel and unusual punishments through the lock, making Aziraphale curl up in the skimpy blanket they had given him, plugging his ears and fighting the urge to vomit. 

However, these threats did not stop Aziraphale from doing everything he could to avoid finding the treasure. He knew as soon as he found it, Gabriel would have him killed. He procrastinated and gave wrong directions, doing everything he thought up to stay alive for longer. During this time, he truly did figure out where the treasure was, on an uncharted island in the middle of the sea. He hid this information, and worked out his own plan to escape. 

He thought he could truly outsmart Gabriel until a beautifully sunny day found him hanging by his coat off the starboard side of the ship. Gabriel’s lackeys had seized him, and here he was, his life being threatened. 

Gabriel paced the deck in front of him, and pulled out a long silver sword. He held it up to Aziraphale’s neck, and cocked his head. 

“You don’t really want to die, do you sweetheart?”

Aziraphale shook his head quickly, fighting back the urge to puke at Gabriel’s pet name. 

“Good, that’s good. So listen, if you don’t want to die, I may firmly suggest you start pointing us in the right direction. I have a ship coming in tomorrow evening with more supplies and manpower, and as soon as they’re here we are going to sail and you are going to find that treasure for us. You’re our golden goose, okay?”

Aziraphale nodded again, painfully aware of the sharp blade pointed under his chin. 

“Great!” Gabriel sheathed his sword and had his crew haul Aziraphale back onto the deck. 

They threw him into his room, not letting him back out until the following day to relieve himself and eat what meager food Madame Tracy, the ship’s cook, could smuggle him. She had been one of the only kind ones to Aziraphale for the duration of the trip, with her and her apprentice Newtown making sure he was fed, even against Gabriel’s orders. 

However, when he came back to his bunk, he found a man with wild red hair and golden eyes looking at his precious map.

“And that’s my story.” Aziraphale muttered into his now-empty glass of rum. 

Crowley rested his head against the desk, trying to process everything Aziraphale had just told him. “I’m- I’m sorry, Aziraphale. For everything you went through,” he slurred. 

Aziraphale waved him away. “It’s fine. But, unfortunately, you’re in on my plan now. I can’t take you with me, so you have to stay hush-hush.”

“So you’re escaping?”

Aziraphale nodded gravely. “In a sense of the word.”

Crowley cocked his head. “What d’you mean?” 

Aziraphale smiled sadly, gazing at the map adoringly. “I’ll escape, one way or another.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hibiscus is, in fact, native to Asia but it does grow astonishingly well in South American climates. Not sure if it grows in St. John, but it’s a fun idea and a beautiful flower.  
> Captain James Cook actually did carry out a research expedition in the name of the queen on the ship Endeavor from 1768 to 1771, charting previously unknown territories such as the eastern coast of Australia, being best known for first charting ‘Botany Bay.’  
> In Elizabethan times of the late 1509s, Queen Elizabeth I chartered ships from her navy to ‘pirate’ others, especially ransacking Spanish ships and spreading English colonial beliefs. The Queen’s Angel ships are loosely based around this concept.  
> Apparently colored pencils weren’t invented until the early 1900s?? Who knew, right? So our artist Crowley is using oil pastels which were basically the same as pastels now. This boy is into art!!


End file.
